La Fornarina – Raffaello Sanzio (Raphael)

Meanwhile, pursuing his amours in secret, Raffaello continued to divert himself beyond measure with the pleasures of love; whence it happened that, having on one occasion indulged in more than his usual excess, he returned to his house in a violent fever. The physicians, believing that he had overheated himself, and receiving from him no confession of the excess of which he had been guilty, imprudently bled him, insomuch that he was weakened and felt himself sinking; for he was in need rather of restoratives. – Vasari, Lives of the Artists

Vocal – Leslie Kritzer

Backing vocals – Veronica Mansour, Elizabeth Ward Land

Guitars – Bernd Schoenhart, Ted Stafford

Bass – Yuka Tadano

Piano, organ – Greg Pliska

Drums – Mark Brotter

Percussion – Aaron Latos

Trumpet – Jim Hynes

Tenor saxophone – Andy Snitzer

Trombone – Mike Davis

Horns arranged by Greg Pliska

The cardinals say I fucked you to death.

(The baker’s daughter)

You painted me till you ran out of breath,

(The baker’s daughter)

The men of Athens you painted in togas,

(The baker’s daughter)

Me you drew with my tits hanging over.

(The baker’s daughter)

I’ll plaster you behind St. Peter,

Bake you like a margherita,

Lick the ladle with lovin’

I’ll burn you in my oven.

I’m waitin’ are you comin’

Come in, come in.

Sprezzatura…

The cardinals say I broke your trust.

(The baker’s daughter)

I kneaded your dough, you broke my crust.

(The baker’s daughter)

The simple truth’s more delicate,

No boast, no bravura.

The simple truth plays hard to get.

The truth is sprezzatura.

I’ll hunt you down until I gotcha,

Slice you like a warm focaccia,

Feed your hunger with my muffin,

Brown your cookies in my oven,

I’m waitin’ are you comin’?

Come in, come in…

Light and grace,

Lips and face,

Put down your palette

My paint’s still wet,

A slow duet,

Not a drop of sweat,

Sprezzatura…

Celebrate with your Signorina,

(The baker’s daughter)

Fornicate with the Fornarina,

(The baker’s daughter)

Color the walls with a coloratura,

(The baker’s daughter)

Spread your soul with a sprezzatura,

(The baker’s daughter)

Church and state,

Gotta wait,

Don’t hang me yet,

My oil is wet.

A minuet

Then a cigarette,

Sprezzatura…

You died on Good Friday before dawn

They buried you in the Pantheon.

Son of a God, roll back the stone!

What good is art when you’re all alone?

Forget the Pope and all his fossils,

JC and the twelve apostles,

Just paint my baker’s dozen,

There’s room inside my oven,

I’m waitin’ are you comin’?

Come in, come in…

Meet you in hell

Raphael…